


tell me how you feel

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brief character death, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: After Jaskier's death, Yennefer and Geralt attempt to bring him back. Like with all magic, there is an unexpected cost.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	tell me how you feel

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a short lil story ive been wanting to work on for a while  
> idk if yall can predict what the twist will be but feel free to guess in the comments! 
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

It was a sunny day when Jaskier died. Fitting, he supposed, given that Jaskier had always loved the summer the most.

Geralt had always assumed he’d be the reason Jaskier would die, at the hands of some beast or one of his many enemies. He assumed he’d feel guilt for the rest of his life for that, because he would’ve. Instead Jaskier had died peacefully in his sleep.

There was no guilt, no way he could’ve known, even with the deepening wrinkles around Jaskier’s eyes, or the slowness to his walk, but there was still hurt. Plenty of it.

He sat with his body for a few hours, until long after he had grown cold to the touch. Geralt wasn’t crying, but he wished he was, wished he could get it out of his system. Instead he was stuck with a lump in his throat and an indescribable pain in his chest.

Finally, only after Roach had shown her impatience, did he move and start to bury a grave. Deep enough to not be easily dug up by animals.

He felt numb, beyond the pain in his chest. Like he was being controlled by someone else. With Jaskier gently placed in the grave, he stood over him. His eyes slid across their camp to Jaskier’s lute, propped against a tree. Jaskier would want to be buried with it.

He couldn’t do it. Even in their last moments together, he would choose to be selfish.

After burying him, Geralt picked up his lute. He barely realized his hands were trembling. Roach let out a soft sound, almost pitying, like she knew. He didn’t doubt that; she always had been a particularly smart horse, one of the smartest.

“I didn’t even get to—” He pressed his lips together. What would he have even said, if he had known?

Would he have finally been brave enough to tell him the truth? Probably not. He had always been too cowardly to let Jaskier in, all the way. He was afraid of this, of being hurt when he finally left him. Well, there had apparently been no avoiding that. Taking a shaky breath, he walked to Roach and attached the lute to her side with the rest of his things.

He’d have to buy more treats for Roach, who Jaskier had properly spoiled despite his complaints.

It was only once he had packed everything up that he finally let himself pause for a moment, arms slipping around Roach, who calmly let him hold her. He wasn’t crying, there were no tears, but his body convulsed with sobs as if he were.

“I fucked up,” he whispered. “I should’ve—”

 _Done_ something, though he knew no human could avoid death. He had known from the start that Jaskier would die. It was inevitable, the conclusion. Knowing that didn’t do much to stop the pain. He squeezed Roach a little tighter. At least he still had her.

*

For a while he didn’t take any jobs, just traveled aimlessly around the Continent. He knew he couldn’t keep it up forever; eventually, he’d need more money for food and shelter, but for now—well, he just needed a break.

Until, of course, he decided he needed to _not_ think and the easiest way to do that was _work_.

He couldn’t think of Jaskier and the pain of losing him, the human-sized hole in his life, when he was fighting for his own life. He could take out of his misplaced anger on poor undeserving creatures, as if every one of them were the reason for Jaskier’s death.

Some nights, by the fire, he felt guilty. He shouldn’t have; Jaskier’s death hadn’t been his fault, in the end, but the guilt didn’t care.

Other nights, he would strum Jaskier’s lute and cringe at every sound that came out of it, painful and too sharp. Roach expressed her displeasure every time.

“Sorry,” he’d apologize, and instead of trying to play the damned thing he’d just hold it, lightly brushing his fingertips over the carvings in the wood. His shoulders shook, some nights, but still he couldn’t cry.

*

Geralt kind of expected to die, honestly. He was taking too many jobs, for too little pay, fighting recklessly. He was prepared for it. He kind of wanted to die, he realized. Cowardly, Vesemir would say, to accept defeat, but he was just so _tired_ all the time.

At least he could die doing what he was meant to do, taking care of monsters.

Destiny always had a way of fucking him over though and this would be no exception, of course. After returning from a hunt, just a random day of a random week, he saw Yennefer waiting for him. He was covered in blood and most of the joints in his body ached with every step he took.

She stared at him with a disapproving frown. “He died, didn’t he?”

Geralt tensed, ignoring the urge to lash out. “How do you know?”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” she said evenly as she stood. “You’re getting sloppy and the stories _do_ tell.”

Geralt turned away as he approached the fire; she must’ve started it back up while he was gone. He sat heavily. With a sigh, she joined him.

“I understand missing him, Geralt,” she started and—the rage was like a fire of its own, burning his stomach and all the way up the back of his throat.

He quickly turned to her, eyes blazing. “No,” he said coldly. “You do not.”

Yennefer was unaffected, like always. “I might not have been as close to him as you were,” she admitted, “but I never wished for his death.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “He was good for you. I respected him if only for that.”

Geralt looked away, turning back to the fire. He didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to _rest_.

“You still have his lute, I see,” she remarked, and he shrugged sharply. When she reached for it, he was quick to grab her wrist. She smiled, small. “Right, of course.”

Releasing her, they both went back to staring at the fire. The flames were beautiful, red and orange and yellow, dancing and twisting together. The kind of beauty Jaskier would write about. Suddenly Geralt knew what he needed to do and Yennefer was exactly the person he needed to do it.

He turned to her. “You can bring him back.”

Yennefer blinked at him. “Don’t be stupid, Geralt,” she said easily, too easily, turning back to the fire. “You know necromancy is messy business.”

Geralt barely resisted the urge to scream. “We have to try.”

“At what cost?” she replied. “My life? Yours? Necromancy always has a cost. _That_ is why is it forbidden.”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’d do it,” he said. “I’d trade my life for his.”

She frowned at the fire. “I know that,” she said, “and I won’t let you do it.”

Yennefer was stubborn, he knew that. “Okay,” he said.

She side-eyed him, obviously not impressed. “Just like that?”

“I know I can’t convince you to do something you don’t want to,” he replied. It wasn’t a proper answer to her question and they both knew it. She narrowed her eyes. “If you won’t help me,” he continued, “I’ll just find a mage who will.”

Yennefer sighed. “You would truly play with forbidden magic? For him?”

It was the easiest question he’d been asked in a while. “Yes,” he said immediately.

Yennefer watched him for a long moment. “If I think we need to stop, we do,” she said finally, and Geralt’s head snapped in her direction, eyes wide. She tilted her chin up, eyes flashing. “You think I’m heartless,” she continued, and he didn’t miss the hurt in her voice, buried deep as it was. “I’m not.”

Nodding, he reached for one of her hands. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied, gently squeezing his hand back.


End file.
